


off into the sunset

by goldenmagikarp



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 06:46:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11731689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenmagikarp/pseuds/goldenmagikarp
Summary: Carey does rope tricks; PK watches. Then they go for a dinner date. That's it.





	off into the sunset

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lazare_syn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazare_syn/gifts).



> A little fluffy treat for you! :D

It's not like PK has a key to slip into Carey's place because he's nosy--but PK has a key to Carey's place because he's nosy _and_ he's the sucker who gets the honor of taking a radiant goalie to dinner on a pretty regular occasion.

It's a little quiet when he comes in, but it's a comfortable quiet, like Carey. It fits. Carey's in his living room doing something, and PK decides just to stand in the doorway and gawk for a little while because he doesn't see this every day. 

Carey has a rope, and he's doing twirls with it. Or whatever you call doing things with ropes that look like they're more suited to someone riding a horse--or maybe a bull. It's a lasso, and he's just making it _dance_ with a flick of his wrist, and nothing's out of place. 

PK honestly thinks that Carey might have been a cowboy in a past life. It's not just the boots and the belt buckles (which PK can also pull off, style is style), it's Carey's... everything. It's how he holds himself, quiet swagger that most people don't see because they're too busy looking at someone else.

Maybe it's PK's fault for provoking him, but he steps in and breaks Carey's little bubble of concentration. "Hey, Carey," he calls out, hands cupped to be louder, to fill in the space between them, a space that seems impossibly wide and silent just now. 

There's a lash straight at him, and PK's in shock. He stills, and there's a rope around his arm. Carey just fucking looped that thing like PK was a runaway steer--or if Carey was Wonder Woman. PK concedes that Carey could definitely pull that outfit off while PK couldn't.

Carey even seems surprised at himself; he drops the rope immediately, and it falls harmlessly to the ground. "Sorry," he says, like it isn't PK he's talking to, which is hurtful, "At least it's not the time I smacked my billet mom in the face with a lasso." 

PK makes a show of rubbing his wrists and frowning. "I can't explain rope burn without some pretty--" and PK makes a show to draw out the word--"prurient speculation about my sex life."

PK even waggles his eyebrows. 

Carey's face falls. PK can't tell if he's judging him for that or genuinely upset at himself, at the possibility of breaking his favorite defenseman. PK can't take more than a second of that expression before bursting out laughing and saying, "It's fine." He jingles his keys. "I think I owe you a steak, don't I?" 

PK, does, in fact, owe Carey a steak. It's a pretty good one, PK thinks, as someone who's eaten a lot of steak in his life. 

PK had plans; he expected this to be a long, relaxed dinner, and maybe they'd share dessert, and PK would get to be a gentleman and drape his coat over Carey's shoulders when it got late and the Montreal air assaulted them with the freezing forces of hell. He is a man of simple wants. 

Carey doesn't care for dessert or a second bottle of wine, and tells PK,"That was nice." PK can't quite read the look in his eye.

"Hey, I was promised a ride off into the sunset!" PK protests, gesturing out towards a window," and look, the sun's barely kissing the ground." 

"When?" And while Carey's smirking at him like that, PK still knows he's pretty fond of PK, as anyone in their right mind should be. "Who said that?" 

PK beams. "I'm told it's a standing offer." He leans into Carey's space, and well, it's not like PK's ever been told he's particularly respectful of it, anyway. "And I have a very reliable source--he's only the best goalie in the world." 

"Oh, only that." Carey snorts, but he still gets up. At least he graces PK's presence with a smile, slightly awkward, but that never stopped Carey's face from deciding to make it a handsome one. 

Some people have naturally beautiful smiles, like PK, and he doesn't want to deprive the world of it by any means. Other people, like Carey, have _precious_ ones. 

"You might owe me a rain-check," PK says, to say something, because looking at someone for so long in a public place is awkward. 

"I'll make it up to you," Carey replies, and well, PK can't argue with that. _Carey's_ the one slinging an arm around PK's shoulder on the way back to the car so, score. 

PK playfully smacks Carey on the cheek, an imitation of how he feels so magnanimous with his love when he's on the high of a win or very drunk. 

Carey's the one who pulls PK in by his tie for a long, hot--at least a minute, PK's sure, but his brain's a little fuzzy--kiss before letting go. Carey clears his throat and says, "You're not picking the music." 

At the country twang steadily growing louder on the stereo, PK would protest, but he's not pushing his luck. 

It's not riding into the sunset, but PK's pretty happy anyway.


End file.
